Boy Abunda interview skills. Check. Bionic ears. Check. These are the two basic skills needed by chismosas. They say, curiosity killed the cat. I say, so what? At least the cat died with the satisfaction of having his questions answered. This is the mantra of chismosas. Read on if you are a chismis predator or prey.

    There's really something about finding discovering astounding news on someone you classify as interesting. It must be the lack of drama in one's life that drives people nuts dpa(deep penetration agent)-ing their way to the core of the romour mill. Although not always in the positive light, sucking the marrow out of chismis gives that satisfaction of knowing a little more than others do. The reasons are downright stupid and shallow but hey, someone's gotta do the dirty job.

    After discovering the earth shattering stories, you suddenly details that often go unnoticed. Say for example boy A who likes girl A of vice versa. Either of them have been dropping what seem to be useless remarks. After finding out about someone's little crush on the other, you realize that those remarks were actually silent screams on the real score.

    So at this point, you already know the dish. The big question that has to be answered is: Divulge or not divulge? For those belonging to their respective Tigbak authorities (Startalk linggo here), more chismis means more juicy information that can be safely shared if not with everyone else, at least among yourselves. You can be all giddy with your hot hot information but not all secrets are public property. Some are meant to brought to the grave while others... well... find their own way out. A little SOS though: If you slip, try not to make a big fuss out of it. What has been said cannot be taken back. But what can be done, is not to blow the issue into even greater proportion.

    They say curiosity killed the cat. I say, so what? At least the cat died with the fulfillment of his questions being answered.

    Mataray ba ako?

    I asked my blockmates this question and the answer was a resounding and resonating yes. In a span of one day, two people I hang out with admitted to having been scared of me during the first few days of school. Three days later, another blockmate told me na nasindak daw siya sa boses ko during our initial orientation. The weekend after I launched my OPLAN: Don't intimidate, just initiate, I asked Toff the same question and I got the same answer. What is the world coming to?

I AM NOT MATARAY.

Or am I?

    It must have been sheer boredom that led Tin-tin and I to start comparing our eyes. She noticed the folds on top of her eyelids. I noticed none on mine. In fact, instead of perking up, my eyes tend to droop more than than the usual. This drooping sensation causes me to look mataray or mad even when I'm not. I didn't choose to be born with eyes like mine. Sorry, I can't do much about that.

Maybe it's the eyebrows.

    I admit to being patient #1xxxxx of the bushy eyebrow syndrome. But a fateful meeting with Mamang Mantatabas (English translation: a gay eye brow plucker) gave mine eyebrows a whole new shape. I love how it curves up but not to the point of looking like the devil. Stray hairs appear every so often but the friendly neighborhood waxer works her wonders on it most of the time... and I like it that way. I love my (eyebrow) hair. I love it's color. But most of all, I love the waxer.

Can it be my voice?

    Here at home, I get shit for having a voice like mine and truth be told, I've never heard the end of it. You can ask my mom how, as a kid, I'd cry like a man thanks to my low voice. Years after, when I turned grade 1, I was reprimanded for speaking at such a hushed tone. I must have sounded like a mouse then. After that incident, I made a mental note to speak louder. So, now I talk the way I do. I don't find it nakakasindak. I actually find it pretty normal.

So, why say I'm mataray?

    This is paper # 2 of 4. Click on the break if you have nothing better to do. This paper is about the jologness that is me.

(My Life)

    Once upon a time, lunch time was not a problem. At the back of the 4-3 kingdom, 10/11 ladies lunched and shared stories of their princes (real and imaginary), tried to photofinish as much school work as possible and when circumstances allowed it, slept one top of the other. This story is leading to what this author is really trying to say: I MISS ALL- Tin, Lisa, Faith, Mia, Marga, Diona, Cielo, Julia, Ishy, Bianca- OF YOU.

    I miss all of you. And it's not in the way that's begging for more comments on this entry. It's the type of miss that consumes my innards like mites consume wood. It's the type of miss that triggers my tear glands (although not completely). It's the type of miss that makes me sick to the gut knowing how much, rather how little I can do.

    It's so easy to just type away and say we can meet up anytime. Truth be told, anytime is synonymous to never. Three weeks into school, I can tell you that the load they give can be a shit load at times. Free cuts and absent teachers are a rarity. Magpaparty na tayo pagmangyari yon. There is also the block factor. So many new people to meet, so little time.

    Considering how good the food around Taft is, I'd love to bring these ladies to the greener side of town. I've discovered new places/eskinitas that convince me that cheap is really my middle name. Knowing how immune all your tummies are, I'd love to bring you guys here and make you taste the cheapest sisig you'll lay your taste buds on.

    And so, the story of the ladies who lunch goes on. Except that this time, there will be more ladies and gentlemen who'll lunch with them.

    This is my first ever attempt at a Philo paper for my Critical Thinking class. This is nothing compared to the work of that urban legend who answered the question, what is courage, with goosebumps inducing wit through a blank ten page paper plus a sly statement at the end. Anyway, read the break (just had to be so because I don't want to clog your screen) and tell me what you think.

(My Death)